


The Spoils of War

by CupidStrikes



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Abuse, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't matter if Richard isn't willing; he needs only to be understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for: dub-con, non-con, abuse, and taking advantage of a more vulnerable person.

_But you rip it from my hands  
and you swear it's all gone.  
And you rip out all I have  
just to say that you've won_

 

The sounds of fighting have died down considerably in the last hour. The halls outside almost hum with emptiness now, and Richard thinks he can hear soldiers beginning to clean up the mess. He doesn't get up to check, though. He doesn't want to move at all. His arms ache from desperately fighting for his life, for his freedom, each little cut and bruise lining up to create a single thrum of pain up each limb. He can vaguely see spots of red on the cream sheets, and thinks that the maids will grumble when they come to change the bedding. _If_ they come to change the bedding. Cedric's knights might be loyal to him, but Richard isn't so sure about the rest of the castle staff, and he's quite sure his uncle won't let his doubts go so easily. He knows better. They both do.

He had expected this day to come; Cedric would have to have grown tired of being sneaky, as every poisoning attempt, or hired assassin failed again and again. Richard and his father both had tried their best...Well, Richard had. Ferdinand's age had betrayed him – his weakening body succuming to the poisonings easier and growing more sickly with the after-effects. Richard couldn't recall a time when his father had been healthy, and it shocked him still, how clear and strong his last breath had been. Untainted by the scratchiness of his ruined throat, and his lungs too far gone to entertain the hacking cough that had followed every sentence for the past decade. Ferdinand's swollen joints had found new strength and his cracked nails tore small holes in his son's sleeve as he clutched at him, even as his grip on life failed.

Richard didn't have time for grief, though. He had freed himself from the king's slack fingers, swallowing and rubbing his face with his other arm. There were shouts from outside as the rattle of armour as more knights poured into the castle in search of the prince. The castle may have been designed to fool intruders, but these were men and women who had worked inside for years, and knew every exit and entry.

Except one.

The Royal Sanctuary was several corridors away, though, and he couldn't hope to fight an army by himself.

Still, he ran. He came across his first band of knights in the second hall way, and, with surprise on his side, managed to slay them. The last got a lucky slash in, though, and Richard was forced to rest against the wall for a moment. His chest throbbed, and when he pushed away from the wall there was a dirty red smear tarnishing the granite. Now wasn't the time to be squeamish, though, and Richard pressed his free hand to the wound to keep it closed and slow the bleeding. He could worry about healing it later...

Things didn't improve; he was forced to hide in a pile of bodies a few metres later, dragging one of the smaller corpses over him to hide the distinctive patterns on his clothing. Though they hadn't begun to decay yet, the bodies stank of unlife, and the tainted air given off by magicka burns made him gag, which in turn jarred the wound in his side. The blood had begun to clot already, and it bled anew as Richard's stomach convulsed again. Several long minutes and a considerably emptier stomach later found Richard inching down the corridor again. Straining to hear the closest knights, he couldn't risk a pace faster than a brisk walk, and his patience was already beginning to break down. His head pounded with fear, and his knees shook despite his efforts to remain composed.

Richard gasped in relief when the stairway to the lower castle ruins came into sight, and in his lapse of concentration, the panic attack overtook. Startled to his knees, Richard's sword slipped from his fingers with three loud, clattering alarms. The prince choked on his own breath and tried, half-blind, to reach his sword, each attempt falling further and wider from the hilt.

“Well, what do we have here?” The words slowly permeated the panic, and Richard turned around so quickly that he slipped on the polished marble floor and slid onto his back. A familiar face blocked his view of the ceiling a second later, and Cedric reached to grasp the front of his nephew's shirt, dragging him to his knees,

“I've waited for this day, Richard,” Cedric's hands are strong, and solid, and hold Richard still even as he begins to struggle. The prince twists and bites him desperately, his own hands tearing at that grip on him. Cedric has many years of experience in battle, and isn't hampered by the after-effects of poisonings, though, and Richard, for all his training and skill, is physically weaker, and fear has long clouded his better judgement. He tires after only a few moments – slumping in a heap at Cedric's feet. His shoulders tremor with exertion, and something that is definitely not upset at defeat. Cedric stays like this for a moment to enjoy the sight of his smug brother's son on his knees...

He could enjoy this a little longer, certainly.

The last of Ferdinand's knights would fall shortly, and they were completely alone here. Cedric could no longer hear the heavy foot steps of his soldiers, and this was the last place they would come looking for them. Things had worked out even better than he had originally planned!

A muffled whimper drew Cedric out of his reverie, and he turned his sight back onto the boy at his feet. He loosened one hand from its vice grip on Richard's side and raised it to cup his cheek, forcing his face upwards. The prince's golden eyes were reddened by tears, and his fair features twisted into a grimace of pain and quiet fury,

“I'll fix those eyes, my boy, don't worry,” Cedric whispered as he stroked his thumb through the tear streaks on his cheek. Richard flinched at the tenderness in the gesture, “now, to business...” Cedric unbuttoned his trousers with one hand and drew out his penis in the same movement. Richard's expression changed at once, and he shook his head sharply, his body tensing to struggle again,

“Richard.” The sound of his name makes him pause, and Cedric takes advantage of that to curl his fingers around the back of Richard's neck. He strokes the prince's neck gently, and hardens his fingers once, just to remind him that he could strangle him with ease now. Richard's eyes narrow in fury and he protests again,

“But...B-but you're my-”

“This isn't about sex, Richard,” Cedric deigns to be honest with him, and he pinches Richard's nose until the boy is forced to open his mouth to gasp for breath. When he does, Cedric shoves his penis inside.

Richard gags. Chokes on the unyielding intrusion and tries to pull back but Cedric's hand on his neck stops him. Keeps him in place. Richard flails helplessly for a moment, like a beached fish, and then gathers enough of his wits again to attempt one more escape. The second Cedric feels a hint of teeth against his skin, though, he tugs viciously on Richard's hair. Richard cries out around the stronger man's penis, and struggles to breathe through the pain. Cedric stares into his eyes – a silent challenge to try it again. Richard doesn't. He obeys.

It doesn't matter if Richard isn't willing; he needs only to be _understanding_.

Cedric is quiet for most of the act. The few grunts and irregular moans that do leave his lips are amplified by the silence of the hallway, and Richard tenses up as each one assaults his ears like screams. The new king is rough, and demanding, and Richard thinks that if it's possible to bruise your throat, then his will be purple tomorrow. He is docile, though, and concentrates on finding a position that is less painful, and doesn't make his neck cramp. It's not easy; as hard as he tries Richard can't detach himself for more than a few seconds, and with as rough as Cedric is being he can't imagine somewhere else there. Asbel would never have been this rough...

Richard chokes again as Cedric forces his cock further into his mouth, and then abruptly pulls it out leaving the prince coughing and spluttering on his own tongue. Richard wonders if it's over. It's not – Cedric's heavy hand on his neck forces his head back, and he flinches as sickly warm liquid hits his face. He may have been inexperienced, but Richard knows his own body well enough to know what it is, and he shakes with humiliation and rage. He can't retaliate, though, he knows, and that burns all the more.

The king is tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening his clothes when the steady click-click of uniform bootsteps breaks the silence. Richard sucks in a breath, and stares at the floor as the shadow of another falls over him,

“Sir. The castle is secure,” the knight's armour rustles as he salutes, and then pauses, no doubt staring at the kneeling prince - Cedric's hand still on his neck, and pearls of semen trickling down his face like off-white tears. Cedric removes his hand and turns to address the knight,

“Very good, Pritchard. See to it that Barona knows it has a new king,”

“Sir,” the knight salutes again, and half-turns, glancing at Richard,

“Never mind that, Pritchard, just the spoils of war.”

Richard shudders. Reduced to nothing more than a trophy of his father's defeat. Utterly dehumanised.

The knight walks away, and Cedric takes Richard's arm, guides him to his feet and doesn't complain when the prince collapses back onto his knees.

Richard understood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing his eyes tightly, he can almost convince himself that this is all a fever dream, and he'll wake any moment with the Royal Healer at his side, rolling her eyes and teasing him about calling her “mummy” again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics taken from "The Ultimate Fling" by Poets of the Fall.

Chapter Two

 

_Did I act like a fool 'cause I didn't know what to do,  
when you gave me just a little bit more than I bargained for,  
a little too much in my hands when my hands are tied _

Richard does not attend the coronation. Whilst the new king celebrates his ill-gotten throne, the prince is leant against the bathroom wall trying desperately not to throw up again. It's hard, though, as the feel of Cedric's hot, heavy hands won't go away, and his body aches still. He hasn't eaten since yesterday morning, and he's dizzy from it. The nausea makes it worse. The thought of eating makes him gag again and a quiet, pained sound leaves him as he sinks back against the wall. Is this how he's going to die? Wasted away by starvation and sickness? Perhaps it would be preferable to whatever plans Cedric has, though Richard wouldn't put it past his uncle to force feed him...He finds himself furthered sickened at such thoughts; only a day into the false king's reign and he's contemplating suicide! Ha, no. He would not be so weak as to give into him....Give into him as he had that morning...Richard coughs and winces as his stomach tries to purge itself once more.

Cedric hadn't been gentle (though he had not been needlessly cruel, either). Richard didn't remember the events of the evening in detail but somehow they had ended up back in his bedroom. What little token comfort the familiar room had offered was quickly forgotten when Cedric ordered him into the bed. Frightened, and still in shock from Cedric's first claim outside the Royal Sanctuary, Richard had obeyed quietly.

He rises after a while, his knees shaking, and carefully makes his way to the bath tub. Turning on the taps, he lets himself sink to his knees on the soft rug and rest his forehead against the blissfully cold stone of the tub. The crashing of water onto water in the tub is harsh against his ears, but silences the persistent thoughts effectively and leaves Richard in a blissful limbo.

The water is hot enough to feel almost cold, but Richard ignores the cold tap and submerges himself almost completely. Closing his eyes tightly, he can almost convince himself that this is all a fever dream, and he'll wake any moment with the Royal Healer at his side, rolling her eyes and teasing him about calling her “mummy” again. He feels fingers against his cheek, and he wonders if maybe his wish has been answered...

Richard doesn't open his eyes to see Asbel.

The still waters of the bath become a storm of waves as Richard tenses and jerks away from that hand. Cedric grabs at him, misses Richard's throat, and instead his fingers close on his nephew's long hair. Richard's escape is effectively halted, and he struggles as Cedric leans over him. The panic clears his mind, and the prince thrashes madly to try and weaken that grip. His uncle is stronger, still, and Richard's actions only serve to weaken him further. He tires quickly, humiliatingly so. Cedric reaches to secure his hold on the boy and Richard, seizing the opening, abandons all grace and bites. He tastes fabric, and sweat, and then blood, and holds on even as his uncle fights now to free himself. He pushes instead of pulls, and Richard's head hits the porcelain hard enough to shock him into a brief daze. Cedric frees his arm. He ignores the pain, and the blood drops discolouring the water, and grabs Richard. Richard struggles. Opens his mouth to try to bite him again.

Cedric doesn't give him the chance. Shoves his head underwater, and watches his nephew choke.

Beneath the surface everything is muffled, and Richard's vision betrays him with darkness and shapes that move and twist. The outline of Cedric above him seems to lurch from side to side, and Richard wonders how his uncle can move so violently when his arms are solid and unyielding. Richard's chest aches as he struggles to hold onto the last scraps of breath in him. He tries one last time to wriggle free, but like a speared fish it proves useless.

Everything is comfortingly fuzzy underwater, and as Richard's body frantically gasps for air, betrayed by its own defensive reaction, he thinks that maybe this wouldn't be such a bad way to go, if today is his day to die. Better than in some dank, stale tunnel, racked with pain and wheezing as the poison seeps in every inch of him –

The memories begin to slip from Richard's mind, and concentrating on them becomes harder and harder, everything quickly fading into numbness.

Cedric changes the force of his arm, and Richard breaks the surface gasping and coughing. His throat constricts with pain as he struggles to take in air, and breathe, and _live_. When he is all but dragged out of the bath he doesn't struggle, but curls up on the rug, shaking and breathing as hard as his lungs will allow.

“You're pathetic.” If Richard hears the insult, he ignores it, and his chest eventually slows and the prince rolls onto his back to stare up at Cedric. He blinks water out of his eyes and slowly sits up,

“Just look at yourself.” Richard does, looking down at the black-purple bruises forming on his pale skin. His expression barely flickers, and when he looks back at Cedric he almost looks...bored. Cedric isn't sure if the boy is still dazed from nearly-drowning, but he's not sure he cares, either. The struggle excited him, though, and he grabs a towel from the rack on the wall tossing it to Richard,

“Dry off and come to bed.” It's an order, and Richard shudders faintly as his fingers tighten in the thick cotton of the towel. He's aware, suddenly, of everything – the way his teeth grind almost painfully, and the solid feel of his stomach, and he feels sick again. He is the son of the true king, though, and he will act like it.

Richard stands slowly, grabbing the wall for support, and manages to towel himself dry. He's mindful of the bruises, and of the lump on his head, as mere touch almost brings him to tears. He walks into the bedroom, the towel wrapped around his hips, and stops in the doorway; Cedric is reclined on the bed, nude, and hard. He smiles at Richard, his eyes inspecting every inch of him until the prince almost feels the need to cover himself further. Cedric motions him over, and Richard is struck by the instinct to run. He knows, logically, that it won't serve any good but to humiliate himself further. Cedric is a smart man, and the door will be locked, and guarded, and the thought that the guards might overhear what is about to happen does little to calm his nerves.

His expression long grown impatient, Cedric sharply rises from the bed and seizes Richard's arm. He tosses his nephew to the bed, the towel falling to the ground in the process, and takes a moment to admire the inviting way in which the fall sprawls Richard across the silk sheets. Before he can recover, though, Cedric climbs atop him and pins the smaller male to the bed with his weight. Richard stares up at him, his mouth open as he pants and his eyes moist as he struggles not to cry,

“You're so beautiful,” Cedric strokes his cheek and leans close to kiss those parted lips. Richard doesn't respond, but that's okay. Cedric only needs him to submit, after all. The rest is just details.

Cedric's body is hot, too hot, and Richard feels like he's suffocating. He can't seem to take in enough air, and when he feels warm fingers probing his most private areas the breath is driven from him again. This should be easier, the second time. The first had been lost in a haze of panic and Richard swearing over and over that it wasn't happening. The first hint of pain is proof enough, though, and Cedric tuts, wiping his fingers off on the sheets and muttering about the pros of having burgundy sheets. It hides the blood,

“Looks like I was a little rough with you,” Cedric laughs. Isn't sorry at all, “you're a strong boy, though, aren't you? You can handle a little pain.” It's barely a question, and when Richard reflexively curls away from him, away from that pain – so strange and unlike any he's felt before – Cedric holds him still, and forces a cooperative motion from him. Richard stares up at the ceiling until Cedric cups his jaw and forces his eyes onto him. He smiles, smug, and shifts his hips, wants to see Richard's face when he feels all of him again. He leans down to kiss him again, and is irritated when Richard turns his head away,

“Come now, boy...You wouldn't be this cold if I were that Lhant boy, now, would you?” Richard tenses up, and Cedric smirks, knowing he's found a weak spot.

Richard wants to scream. Deny that Asbel would ever be this merciless with anyone, but to do so would be to admit he had thought about it. Pain burns up through him again, and his thoughts drift to Asbel, and suddenly he is twelve again, watching Asbel charge into battle against an older, wiser, stronger foe.

For him.

What would Asbel say if he could see him now?

“My guards said they saw him, heading here.” Richard looks up, and feels his breath stop for a second. Cedric laughs and touches Richard's face with faux-affection once more, “Pity he won't make it this far.” Cedric's lips twist into a grin, and something deep inside Richard swells and then bursts like an overfull balloon.

_Fight._

Richard disentangles his arms from the sheets, and Cedric's smile gives way to confusion in the split-second before nails dig into his cheek and the boy beneath him snarls in fury as he struggles anew. The surprise gives Richard a momentary advantage, and droplets of his uncle's blood fleck across his face as he scratches at him. He brings a leg up and viciously kicks him, barely feeling the pain as it wrenches him partway from where they are joined. Anger gives him renewed strength, and in that moment Richard believes he might be saved. Then Cedric's fingers clamp around his throat. He chokes, flails, and fights again. Cedric's hand is a mess of scratches when Richard's vision blurs and he squeezes his eyes shut. Tears leak down his cheeks as he is released, and the mattress feels like stone as he falls back against it.

The king is ruthless, then, and it's only with the last fading scraps of his will that Richard doesn't give him the satisfaction of screaming. That hand is kept around his neck, like a collar, and a reminder of his own weakness. Cedric slaps him as he finishes, and stares deep into his eyes as he comes deep inside him – _claims_ him. This, too, is important. He leaves once he is done, and Richard barely curls his knees up to his chest before exhaustion and pain take him.

Richard loses.

 

~~  
~~

The morning wakes him. Sun streams in from the open curtains and Richard, blinking, sees every drop and smear of blood, now dried and cracking on the sheets and on his skin. Breathing is painful, but he breathes through the agony and digs his nails into his palms as he sits up. He forces himself to his feet and convinces himself he's not limping as he stumbles into the bathroom. Richard avoids the mirror and splashes cold water onto his face, resting his hands to the coolness of the sink, just breathing and feeling every inch of himself.

There are voices outside the door. Guards. Something is happening.

Richard forces himself closer, resting his side to the wall and closing his eyes as he strains to hear better.

“....Entered the capital....Majesty won't be.......”

“...Sure it's him?”

“.from Lhant...'ll have to.....before they....reach the castle.”

Lhant.

_Asbel._

He made it.

Richard smiles faintly and feels new strength come to him. He pushes away from the wall and searches the room for his clothes. He redresses and combs his hair, fighting with the snarls where blood has dried into the blond strands, and washes the blood from his face and hands. He pulls his boots on, and yanks one of the rapiers free from the display on the wall. He tries the door, and finds it unlocked.

The first guard yelps in surprise as the door opens and a sword is thrust into his side in the same moment. The second snarls in rage, but is sent flying as an arte crackles into life.

The prince runs. He staggers and stumbles unevenly on the floor, and can already feel the strain on his body as he casts again, and again. His only hope is to keep from engaging in sword-combat, and disable any guards before they reach him. The throne room is on the other side of the castle. Cedric will not catch him. The corridor to the secret entrance is blissfully empty, and Richard finds himself slowing down as he approaching the statue. He rests against it, pushing back memories of himself on his knees just a few feet away, and presses his shoulder to the cold stone.

It doesn't yield at first, and as the first cries of those finding the dead and unconscious guards reaches his ears, Richard feels the first spikes of panic break the surface of his resolve. He grits his teeth and tries again, feeling it give just a little, and with frantic, and desperate strength, it finally gives way and Richard, suddenly without a solid support, falls into the passage way as the statue groans back into place behind him. The air is cool in the passage way, and the smell of must and decay barely registers. Richard takes a moment to catch his breath and collect his nerves before rising again, slowly, and limps his way down the narrow path.

He trips on a root, or loose rock, and pain shoots up his body again. He closes his eyes and leans against the wall, trying to find the strength to stand again. It wriggles out of his grasp, though, and his next breath hitches painfully. He's so close...Will he die here in this supposed haven? No....

Richard thinks he can see the light from the exit, and tries again to rise. He fails, and the light suddenly disappears. A mirage? It can't be! He hears someone calling his name then, and wonders again if he's hallucinating. The strong hands that grasp his arms, and the warmth of the person they belong to is real enough, though, and Richard struggles, afraid he has been caught.

“Richard.” That is enough to shock him out of his fight for freedom, and he strains his eyes in the gloom to make out the other person. Pristine white uniform, hair that doesn't quite lay flat, and those eyes....

“....Asbel?” His voice is fainter than he had thought, and he winces at how weak he sounds. Asbel smiles, and gently brushes Richard's hair out of his eyes. The prince closes his eyes and allows himself to fall against that chest. He listens to the steady tha-thump of Asbel's heart beat, and feels the fuzz of exhaustion creep up on him once more. This time, though, he embraces it, with all the clarity of knowing, as he did seven years ago, that there is no safer place on this earth.

It's over.


End file.
